''I'm going to talk to Elmore,'' Sandy said, her voice like the ice in the streets. ''I'll get to Dick when I get to him.''

''Listen…''

''Are you going to shoot me, Ansel? That'd help Dick a lot.''

Butters backed off, and Sandy took Elmore twenty yards down the street.

''What?''

Elmore was visibly trembling.

''I been listening to the radio,'' he rasped. ''They been down here killing cops' families. That's all they're talking about on the radio, every station I could get. They killed two people and there's a third one might die. Everybody in the goddamned world is looking for them, Sandy.''

Sandy looked at him, then turned and looked at Butters, who stood silently waiting. ''Oh my God,'' she said.

''We got to get out,'' Elmore said.

''Let's go see Dick,'' Sandy said. ''I'll work us out of here. But you're right.

We've got to see John.''

They walked down the driveway together, Butters lingering just out of earshot.

Martin waited at the door.

''Come on in,'' he said to Sandy. He looked at Elmore and nodded, and Elmore looked away.

The house had one couch, a broken-down wreck in the living room. Martin had pulled the cushions off and thrown them on the floor, and LaChaise was lying on them, his head propped up with a pillow. Martin had covered him with a blanket, and LaChaise grinned at Sandy when she came in.

''How bad?'' she asked.

''Not too bad,'' LaChaise said. ''It's more like… it's gotta be cleaned up.''

''Let me see,'' Sandy said. ''I need a light.''

They peeled the blanket off and LaChaise rolled onto his side. The pain had subsided somewhat, and he lifted his arm so she could see more clearly. At the same time, Butters took the shade off a table lamp, and held it like a torch over LaChaise.

Sandy looked at the wound for a moment. An open gash, at the back, became a bluish streak where the bullet had gone beneath the skin. A small round exit wound showed four inches below his nipple and over to the side. A trailing gash showed some rib meat. Sandy looked up at LaChaise. ''You gotta go to a hospital,'' she said.

''Can't do that. You gotta fix it.''

She looked at it again. In fact, she could fix it. ''It'll hurt,'' she said.

''Atta girl,'' LaChaise said, and to Butters: ''Told you so.''

''I believed you,'' Butters said.

''What happened?'' she asked. ''How'd you get shot?''

''Argument over traveling money,'' LaChaise said. ''The guy owed me…''

''Did you kill him?''

''No, I didn't kill him,'' LaChaise said, smiling faintly.''Now, you want to fix me? This hurts like hell.''

''You lying sonofabitch,'' Sandy said evenly. ''You killed some cops' families.

I oughta…''

Before she could finish, Martin backhanded her. His hand was like a leg of beef, and knocked her flat. For a second, she didn't know what had happened, and then dazed, ears ringing, heard LaChaise say, ''Whoa, whoa…'' Behind him,

Elmore: ''Goddamnit…''

She rolled, tried to sit up, and Martin was there, his face inches from hers:

''Stop the bullshit. You fix him or I'll cut you into fuckin' fish bait.''

Across the room, Butters was smiling at Elmore, half expecting him to make a move, but Elmore swallowed and shut up.

Sandy got back to her feet, turned away from Martin without a word and said to

LaChaise, ''I brought you some pills. You should take a few before we start.''

LaChaise looked at her, then at Martin, and grinned at Martin: ''I wouldn't turn your back on her,'' he said.

LACHAISE TOOK THE PILLS WITH A SWALLOW OF water, and looked past Sandy at

Elmore. ''El, I hate to say this, but you better get back. I was recognized, and the cops'll probably be coming by again.''

''I thought it'd be best if Sandy come back tonight,'' Elmore said.

''She's staying,'' Martin said bluntly. ''Overnight, anyway. Until Dick's okay.''

''What the hell am I supposed to tell the cops if they come?'' Elmore demanded.

''They'll want to know where she is.''

''Tell 'em she went out to the store, then call us on my cell phone. She can be back in an hour,'' LaChaise said.

''Sandy…'' Elmore couldn't say it, but she knew what he was thinking.

''Come on, El, let's get my stuff out of the truck,'' Sandy said. She nodded at

LaChaise. ''I'll get my stuff and kiss El good-bye.''

''I'll help,'' Butters said.

''You can stand on the porch,'' said Sandy.

Outside, at the truck, Elmore whispered, ''I'm sorry about that in there. I was gonna say something…'' He scuffled at the snow with the toe of his boot.

''We gotta get out.''

''I know.'' She looked back at the house, at Butters standing there on the dark porch. ''But I've got to get clear. If they killed cops' families, then they're dead men. I'll be back home tomorrow, and we'll figure something out.''

''Sandy…'' He stepped up to her, maybe to kiss her. She moved just an inch sideways and pecked him on the cheek.

''You go on; I'll be okay. Just wait 'til I get there, before you call John.''

He didn't want to go, but he couldn't stay. He shifted his feet, looked up at the sky, shook his head, then started the low moaning that she'd seen earlier: he was weeping again.

''El, El, hold on,'' she said. ''Come on, El…''

''Ah, Jesus,'' he said.

''I'll see you in the morning,'' she said.

As Elmore was starting the truck, Sandy walked back toward the house; Butters suddenly dropped off the porch and hurried past her, waving at Elmore. Elmore rolled down the driver's-side window and Butters came up, leaned close to

Elmore, grinned and said, ''You call the cops, we'll cut off her head.''

THE BULLET HAD SIMPLY SLIPPED BENEATH THE SKIN and back out again, but the wound had to be opened and cleaned. Sandy cut through the skin, carefully, with a razor blade. Fresh blood trickled into the gash, but as soon as she had the entire pathway open, she flushed it with saline, thensoaked a sterile gauze pad with more saline and dabbed it clean. At the bottom of the wound, there was a flash of white. Rib bone.

''Just touched a rib,'' she said to Martin.

''I see,'' he said, peering into the hole. He was interested in bullet wounds.

After a final wash, she repaired the razor cut with a long series of rolling stitches with black nylon thread, then painted the area around the wound with antiseptic. LaChaise wiggled a few times, but kept his mouth shut.

When she'd finished the stitching, Sandy's hands were red with blood. She went to the kitchen, washed, then returned to LaChaise and put a heavy bandage over the wound. She fixed the bandage in place with round-the-chest wraps of gauze, and then tape.

At the end of it, LaChaise sat up.

''Maybe you shouldn't move,'' she said.

He was feeling the pills, and smiled weakly and said, ''Shit, I been hurt worse than this by sissies.''

''That's the codeine. You're gonna hurt later on,'' Sandy said.

''I can live with it,'' he said. He got shakily to his feet and looked down at the bandaging job. ''Jesus, good job. Really good job. You're a little honey,'' he said.

DEL AND LUCAS WERE ON THE WAY OUT OF THE BUILDING when Sloan caught up: ''I'm coming,'' he said. ''Keep you out of trouble.''

All the way out to the laundromat, they argued about the shootings, and the response. Del said the season was open.

''Wouldn't be murder,'' Del said stubbornly. ''I wouldn't just shoot them cold.''

''… and the thing is,'' Lucas continued, ''you'd take allof us down with you. We'd all go out to Stillwater together. Nobody'd believe it was just you.''

An unwanted grin popped up on Del's face: ''Hell, we know half the guys out there. Be like old home week.''

Sloan said, ''Lucas is right. I don't even think you should be riding with us.